This was not the gentle plea of a lover, but a demand.
Killian snapped awake. He sat up straight and immediately regretted it. The small room was bright, far brighter than his dreams. It burned his eyes and added to the incessant pounding in his head. Devil’s bane, he’d drunk too much last night. His headache only worsened as he beheld who had interrupted his sleep.
Elyse stood in the cramped space between the single bed and the dresser. She was clad in black with a shining dagger at herhip. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her lips contorted in a scowl.
Killian was frozen. She looked so different from the last time he’d seen her, when she was exhausted and covered in blood. Now she stared down at him, her contempt unbridled. Her irises were somehow darker, blending in with the pupils that bore down on him. The ends of her hair were shorter and sharper, like silver daggers that brushed her shoulders.
“You’re drooling,” she scoffed as her expression morphed into a smirk. She lifted one brow at him, like she knew precisely what he’d been dreaming about.
Killian wiped the back of his hand against his mouth and was humbled to find saliva at the corner of his lips. “What are you doing here?”
It was all he could manage to say, though hundreds of other questions swarmed his mind. Where had she been? Was she all right? Had she missed him, the way he yearned for her? Did she even know what longing was?
Had she killed Royce in cold blood?
He rose from the bed and stood before her, both arms reaching to touch her as he had in his dream. She backed away, avoiding his touch. Something in Killian died. He let his hands fall to his sides as the last bit of hope that she still cared for him was obliterated.
Elyse’s gaze dipped to the scar on his bare chest. She studied it, her eyes lingering over the mangled skin, a morbid fascination in her expression. She had seen this scar before, evidence of the siblings he’d lost. She had even touched the scar, and offered toheal it. But never had she looked at it with such pity as she did now.
Killian aimed for the dresser, suddenly desperate for a shirt. Elyse moved aside, gracefully maneuvering out of his way in the small space. His back was to her, but he knew what she was looking at. A fresh scar marked his back from where Jaime had stabbed him. Lady Death had revived him, but she had let the scar remain. This new scar mirrored the one on his chest, as if he had been run through the heart with a stake. Fitting, considering that was how he felt in this tiny room with Elyse.
“Sit,” she commanded after he’d pulled on a tunic.
He turned to face her. “I’m not a dog.”
A smirk slipped across her face, like his defiance amused her. This was a game of cat and mouse to her, and not in the flirtatious way it used to be.
It pained him—physically pained him—to look at her. To see that she held nothing in her heart for him. Was this how it had felt for her while they’d worked to solve the Prestowne massacre? Countless times, he’d given her the same hostile glare she was projecting now. His heart ached for the both of them as he lamented the torment he’d caused her and was experiencing for himself now.
“I think you’ll find it’s best to do as you’re told,” Elyse retorted.
“Your memories are intact, aren’t they?” Killian pressed, taking a step closer to her. They stood only a foot apart. He could feel the heat coming off her body. “Then I think you’ll recall that I’m rather fond of being a pain in your ass.”
Elyse huffed, her cunning gaze measuring him from toe to top. “You’re going to play a game for me,” she said.
“No games, Elyse,” he sighed.
She laughed, but it was hollow and cruel. “Not like that,” she scoffed. “A card game.”
Killian raised one brow at her. He towered over her, his shoulders broad and straight, but Elyse didn’t flinch as she stared up at him. “Let me make sure I understand,” he began, his voice a low growl. “You bring me back from the dead. You disappear for weeks with no word. And now you just show up and—” He threw his hands into the air, unable to keep his frustration leashed. “You want me to play cards?”
He was so damned furious with her. He wanted to banish her from his room, but he also wasn’t sure if he was capable of letting her out of his sight. And for her to come back into his life with such a silly request… He didn’t know if he should laugh or rage.
Elyse held his gaze for a long moment before rolling her eyes and shoving past him. She flounced onto the bed and crossed one leg over the other as she leaned back on her palms. A portrait of casual cruelty.
“Remember when we went to the Black Cat tavern, and you played cards with those strangers?” she asked, unfazed by his tantrum. “Were you really that good, or was it dumb luck?”
Killian swallowed, too baffled to speak. She was seriously inquiring about his card playing abilities. But why? He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck as he sighed, too tired, too hungover to try and discover her motivations.
“I’m a damn good player,” he answered finally. “My mum and I used to play all the time growing up, and it’s a common way to pass time in the Guard.” He crossed his arms over his chest—and maybe, just maybe—he flexed his biceps a little. Just to see if Elyse would look.
She did, but her expression didn’t change.
“What’s this about?” Killian asked.
Ignoring him once again, Elyse asked her own question. “Have you ever played Dead Man’s Bluff?”
“Maybe. What’s this about?”
